It's not always this bad. Sometimes it's worse.
Let's see, yesterday I spent a rainy afternoon visiting someone in Yale's Psychiatric Institute (aka, the psych ward). Then I bought myself a new raincoat, had some tea and took a nap. Later, Ian and I went out for a great big fish dinner. Ian had the baked potato with his scallops. I had the chianti.
This morning I'll wear my new mack as I walk the dog through the wind and by the water. Then it's off to visit Grandma McGuire at a different hospital in the city, where she is recuperating from acute appendicitis, because liver cancer isn't the challenge it used to be. Then I'll pick up the kids from their father's house and drive them downtown, where we'll meet up with Jane and her kids for the St. Paddy's Day Parade. Providing the wee ones don't get blown away in today's wind gusts, we'll have a good time wearing glittery green stuff and pulling a few beers out of the diaper bag... I won't see Ian, because he'll be busy being the strong arm of order and brew as he slings beer at Rudy's from 9AM to 6PM today. I won't be going there, but it doesn't matter. I'll see some of the regulars marching. What's a parade without your ex-boyfriend falling out of line with the other firemen in the march to hug you? We Irish are almost as bad at letting go of people as we are at keeping them close.
Thought you might enjoy these:
Irish Language Lesson
What if the Beatles Were Irish?
Time for me to do some yoga and hit the shower.